


Le Renard

by dreamcp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Bliss, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, le petit prince reference, parnasse loves jehan with all he has
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcp/pseuds/dreamcp
Summary: A long day for Montparnasse has finally ended, and he can return home to the arms of the one he treasures most for comfort.





	Le Renard

**Author's Note:**

> Like half my fics are for what I think are officially rarepairs considering the number of fics in their tags. Time to add another to my list I guess :) Thanks for reading!

Montparnasse sees the realization flit across Jehan’s face the moment he crosses the threshold. They’re curled up on the couch buried in the blankets that are covered in the ugly, horrible patterns that Montparnasse has grown to love. 

He feels their eyes on him as he shucks off his jacket and shoes wordlessly. And when he finishes and finally looks up at them, exhaustion doubtless plain on his face, they smile that soft smile and extend their arms wide to invite him into their cocoon of fabric.

In the early days of this thing they share, Montparnasse would have scoffed at the idea. He’s a grown-ass man who’s always strived to distance himself from the world. Jehan has always been a lover—of people, of the world, of poetry and romance, of the many plants that grow healthy throughout their shared flat, of affection. That was never Montparnasse. Not until Jehan.

Now, Montparnasse has no such reservations about making a beeline for Jehan’s embrace. He lies against them and rests his head against their chest and allows himself to relax. His eyes slide shut as Jehan brings their arms around his back to cover them both in blankets.

They don’t need words, so they don’t use them. Montparnasse breathes in Jehan’s scent—incense, fresh dirt, rosemary—and feels the tension in his limbs draining away. He feels Jehan’s fingers tracing light circles on his back, and he lets his mind go blank.

The sounds of the city drift up through the open window. It feels comforting, but also slightly removed. The irritations of day-to-day life can’t seem to breach the walls of their little flat and they fall away, leaving only the hum of life. Montparnasse has always been able to recognize that hum, had only ever noticed the things that annoyed or angered him. Jehan can feel it to, but they have the remarkable ability to draw strength from it, rather than feel drained like Montparnasse. They see the best in people. The best in Montparnasse himself, even.

Jehan’s hands creep up his back, ghost against his neck on their way into his dark hair. They run their hands through it again and again softly. Montparnasse feels his curls beginning to fall into his face as Jehan’s attentions loosen the product keeping them tamed.

“Not concerned with all the oil on your hands now?” he huffs in amusement. 

“Not really,” comes the light reply.

Montparnasse lifts his head to meet Jehan’s admiring gaze, their eyes bright and smile crooked, and not for the first time, Montparnasse finds himself in reverence. The setting sun has cast a deep warm hue over the room, setting Jehan’s long auburn hair ablaze; the effect reminds Montparnasse of a halo.

Jehan’s hands remain threading through his hair, and more and more of Montparnasse’s curls come loose. He watches Jehan through his eyelashes, eyelids heavy in his relaxed state. Jehan brushes his hair aside, then lets go and smiles as Montparnasse’s vision is nearly obscured. Montparnasse snorts and tucks what he can behind one ear. A few curls fall into his face regardless.

“Too pretty to be tamed,” Jehan says softly, and Montparnasse can’t be sure if they mean his curls or himself. Really though, he has been tamed by Jehan. He hadn’t known love like this, had barely known trust, and now he can’t imagine living without either. A book Jehan has read to him comes to mind, one that they love dearest out of all their books, though Jehan swears they don’t pick favorites among their children. He traces the words inked across their heart. _L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux._

“I could say the same of you,” Montparnasse murmurs, and it’s true, Jehan is beautiful and wild and kind and free. And every moment they spend on Montparnasse is one he counts as a blessing, as he has and always will. Jehan’s beaming face could light the world through the night.

The couch is still occupied long after dark has fallen. Warm lamplight spills from that fourth-story window until late into the evening, nearly midnight, when its inhabitants curl into each other under the blankets and whisper words of love in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> you ever think about le petit prince and just cry


End file.
